A Touch of Rubbing Alcohol
by SparksFrost
Summary: How well did Bro take care of Dave before the game? Well... you see, it went like this...  Rated M for language and a teeny tiny bit of sexual implications. Hardly worth noting.


Short fanfic of Stridercest (sorta). I really am a total cockblock in all of my stories. XD This one is mild, but it's still there. Read my other fanfics and you'll know what I mean. Heehe

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><p>Dave rested his hand on the door to his house taking deep, calming breaths. Bro was going to fucking flip his shit if he saw him. Dave could only hope this was one of the many times Bro was on an extended vacation from home. He steeled his resolve and slipped inside, all of his senses tingling.<p>

It was quiet and dark, the misshapen silhouettes of puppets and swords scattered around the area. Exhaling, Dave rubbed a hand through his blood-crusted hair and started for his room.

Scritch.

Dave froze. "Fuck."

The lights clicked on and he threw up his hand to shield his exposed eye. Before he had a chance to adjust he was slammed against the wall, a set of hands fisted in his shirt. He yelped in protest as his bruised skin was crushed.

"Start talking, kid." A voice growled low in his ear.

Dave groaned. "Ah—fuck, Bro! You're killing me!"

"Who did this to you?" Dirk's fists clenched tighter, stretching Dave's tattered shirt.

"Aahh—" Dave gritted his teeth. "None of your fuckin business. And for the record, throwing me around isn't making it any fucking better." Dave tried to shove his sibling away, but his sore muscles refused to cooperate, and Dirk easily kept him pinned.

"Dave Strider if you don't tell me who beat the shit out of my kid bro I'll rough you up so bad you'll have a whole new meaning of pain." Dirk hissed, grabbing Dave's shoulders and squeezing until he squirmed.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose, shithead?" Dave ground out.

"I'm the only one allowed to beat you senseless. Anyone else answers to me."

"Fuck off! I can take care of myself."

"Obviously." Dirk snorted, laughing dryly.

Dave glared at him and pushed at him again, and this time Dirk stepped away, letting Dave pass.

"I'm going to go clean up." Dave snapped, stalking upstairs and stripping off his ruined shirt as he went. Once in his room, he pulled off his shades to examine them.

"Damn it…" One lens was shattered and the other had a long crack in it. Useless. Grumbling angrily, Dave threw them in his trashcan and his shirt after them. He closed his eyes and focused on calming down. After a few moments he grabbed his towel from that morning and went to the bathroom. He carefully peeled off his pants; the dried blood tugged painfully on his hair.

He cranked up the hot water and rinsed off the remaining blood and took inventory of the damage. Dozens of bruises—several large blotchy ones—multiple scrapes, and three long cuts, one on his chest, one on his arm, and one on his thigh. His face felt like it was three times bigger than normal and the skin was sensitive to touch. It also felt like there was another gash on his forehead.

He was afraid to look in a mirror.

Half an hour later he stepped out, his skin pink and raw from the heat, but he felt considerably better. He wrapped his towel around his waist and kept his head ducked so he wouldn't accidently see his reflection. Once he was back in his room, he was faced with the dilemma of what to wear. He finally settled with just his boxers. No point in walking around in his state anyway. Just as he was pulling them over his hips, his door banged open.

"Shit—what?"

Dirk grabbed him and tossed him on the bed, leaning over him, his arms trapping him down. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

Dirk grabbed Dave's chin with one hand, causing his face to twinge uncomfortably. Bro reached back and pulled something out of his pocket, and then straddled Dave, holding him still with his body.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Dave protested, his chest blooming in pain as Dirk settled his full weight on him.

"Hold still. If you struggle it'll take longer." Dave's eyes focused on what was in Dirk's hands.

"Shiiiit! Fuck no! Don't you DARE put that stuff on me!"

Dirk opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "It's for your own good." He then proceeded to pour it in liberal amounts on Dave's open wounds. Dave groaned and clenched his jaw, determined to kill Bro the first chance he got.

"I hate you, so fuckin much. You have no fucking idea the capacity and extent of my loathing for you at this moment." Dave practically snarled.

Dirk's expression was unreadable behind his shades. "Fuck you too, kid. And now you're going to tell me what happened." He took out a roll of bandages from his pocket and started to wrap Dave's injuries.

"It's not a fucking big deal. I just pissed off some college kids." Dave muttered, refusing to look at Dirk. He grunted as Dirk spitefully tugged a wrap tighter.

Bro worked in silence as he finished bandaging Dave, and then he sighed and climbed off of his younger sibling. Dave pulled himself up stiffly, his nerve endings on fire. His face felt stiff and the binding around his head was uncomfortable. Dirk reached down and tussled his hair.

"Stop making me worry so much. Brat." He said quietly, and then he yanked on Dave's hair. Dave roughly pushed his hand away, his face flushed.

"Just… go away." Dave flopped back on his bed, turning over to bury his face in his pillows.

After several long minutes of silence Dave glanced back at his bro, but he'd already left.

**Epilogue**

TG: i am overcome with the desire to do something drastic

TT: I'm afraid i have no idea to what you might be referring to.

TG: i'm standing over bro's body

TG: with a fucking sword buried in his chest

TT: Well

TT: Would you like me to shed tears of remorse for your lost father figure?

TG: fuck no

TG: you should see the amount of tears i'm grossly shedding behind my chill as fuck shades all by myself

TG: it's like a fucking party back here

TG: you have no idea how fuckin broken up i am right now

TG: all these fuckin dramatics while I'm brooding over the remains of my slaughtered family

TT: While I seem to recall you previously insisting you had nothing but utter contempt for your parental unit

TT: you are now deciding you held a spot of fondness for him after all.

TG: fuck no

TG: it's just

TG: he tried his best you know?

TG: i'll kind of miss the shithead


End file.
